A Baby Instruction Manual
by Tasia
Summary: "Exactly how long have you been standing there watching me?" Royai.


Ask: Heyyyy, are u accepting writing prompts? If not, just ignore this request 😅. Can you write something that includes this "Exactly how long have you been standing there watching me?" (Royai) thanks in advance! :)

A/N: Thank you, tomoehawkeye, for this prompt request and sorry it took forever to finish. The last chapter of City of Stars took longer than I thought. Anyhow, I hope you like this one :)

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**A Baby Instruction Manual**

He was beautiful. Mesmerizing. Innocent.

Nicolas had a thick bed of hair, downy and fair, that framed blue eyes larger than his tiny face. They were much like his mother's, bright and clear with vitality. But under the shimmer of morning ray, Riza Hawkeye could make out his father's intelligence and penchant for trouble, envisioning a clever, little rascal he would grow up to become.

In his sleep, Nicolas was sturdy as a rock, with snores too quiet to hear in the humming room. Black Hayate was right beside him, slumbering closely against his tiny body, asserting the role of his protector. But even with the dog and its restless tendency, it was almost impossible to watch from afar and not worry. It was understandable when Riza noticed the dark half moons below Winry and Edward's droopy lids. They were most likely painted by the same anxiety she now experienced. _That_, and their obvious lack of sleep.

This wasn't her first time looking after a child. She had watched Elicia once before, when all the girl could do was babble gibberish and crawled around the Hughes' living room on all fours. But Maes had been there then, in the undisturbed office space at the end of their hallway. And Gracia had been there, the slicing sound of her knife reinforcing the sense of security within her in the case of all hell breaking loose.

Approaching the makeshift crib of throw pillows and heavy blankets, Riza studied the sleeping infant. Nothing quite penetrated General Mustang's nonsensical skull when Edward called him (and her) to look after the child for several hours. "Only until we return from a meeting with Al and Mei's wedding planner," Edward had said, "and it shouldn't take longer than five hours." The General had blurted out his consent hastily, which made Riza wonder whether he had actually understood the kind of commitment it took to watch an eight-month old.

At last, with a smile that belied the reluctance churning in her stomach, Riza took the baby into her arms when Edward and Winry stood at the General's door at the first strike of dawn.

"Where's the useless General?" Edward had asked, a sneer in his tone.

"He's still sleeping," Riza had said. When Edward raised a brow, a telling look that was both curious and prying, she quickly explained, "I let myself in... I didn't want to wake the General."

Winry was courteous as always and had smiled beside her husband, "Thank you for watching him, Miss Riza. And thank the General for us, too."

"Of course, Winry."

Now, all responsibility pertaining to Nicolas fell on their (her) lap. Riza was excited and giddy, mortified and nervous, all at the same time, a stream of emotions rushing in and brimming her up until she couldn't decipher one from the other. Beside the crib Riza had previously arranged, atop its own embroidered pillow as though a royal crown, she set the list of instruction written in Edward's scratchy cursive. It said:

_Baby manual for Mustang because the man has no common sense:_

_1\. If Nicolas cries, he might be asking for milk. Other foods he can eat (cook until __very soft__):_

_\- Apple sauce_

_\- Avocado_

_\- Carrot_

_\- Mango_

_\- Pasta_

_\- Pumpkin_

_\- Rice_

_\- Sweet potato_

_\- Tofu_

_\- Turkey_

_***NO PEANUTS. I repeat, NO PEANUTS!**_

_2\. If he still cries, maybe his diaper is soiled. Sniff and/or check._

_\- How to change his diaper:_

_\- Lay the cloth flat._

_\- Fold it in half by twisting the left edge to the right. Create a rectangle._

_\- Fold it in half again. Bring the bottom edge to the top. You should have a square of four layers thick._

_\- Fold the left third over the middle third._

_\- Do the same with the right third. It should be a rectangle again by now._

_\- Widen the top of the rectangle. The wider top edge is the back of the diaper. The narrow bottom edge is the front, and this part will come up over his tummy._

_\- If the diaper looks too long, fold up part of of it from the bottom._

_\- Use the safety pin in the front. Don't prick my baby!_

_3\. There's toys in the bag. His favorite is the horse stuffed animal._

_4\. And if nothing else works, rock him and sing to him. That should do the trick._

How funny that the direction was written solely for the General, Riza thought, because she could benefit from it just as much as he. So when Nicolas started whimpering, a hushed moan that slowly grew stronger, she summoned her conviction to bring the Sunday harmony back within the four walls.

Running to the kitchen, she picked up the feeding bottle with the half-full milk. She ran a pacifying hand up down his back, shushing softly at Nicolas, who was now sitting upright and grumpy, "Are you hungry, Nicolas?" She lowered the red teat to touch against the baby's mouth. But rather than taking it in, Nicolas slapped an angry hand at the bottle, knocking it off of Riza's grip to drip dots across the clean sheet.

She frowned, "You don't want the milk? Are you not hungry then?"

When Nicolas' eyes began to mist, his feeble whine morphing into a heartbreaking whimper, Riza put aside the bottle and crouched down, sniffing the air about him. Murmuring to herself, she asked, as though the baby could provide a coherent reply, "Your mother changed your diaper before she dropped you off, right? Did you wet yourself? Or did you poo?"

Hesitantly, she dipped her hand into and scrambled for a piece of linen cloth from within the canvas pack. There were many things inside - toys, articles of clothing, fresh fruits wrapped in a brown paper bag, and she hurriedly deposited them one by one across the coffee table. The item of her searching was at the bottom, buried beneath Nicolas' playthings.

The child was whining again.

With careful consideration, she took the piece of cloth and spread it evenly on all ends on a clean surface. Not once did she blink, or so she believed. And as clearly as Edward laid out his step-by-step instruction, Riza still had a difficult time imagining what the diaper should look like once all was said and done. She could only hope that everything had been done correctly, down to the tee.

Nicolas whimpered, noisily this time, and unwilling to wake the General from his much needed sleep, she crawled towards the baby. "Hush, hush Nicolas. Auntie Riza's here."

By then, her neatly twisted bun had loosened from the rigorous folding of the cloth, her nails digging helplessly into her hair every so often. Strays of golden tresses sheltered an agitated expression, and Riza drew in a breath, deciding to table the suspense of seeing that dreadful brown streak against his diaper.

Removing the safety pin, she unfurled the diaper swaddling Nicolas' hips. There was only a small, wet stain, and she sighed in partial relief. But one consolation brought about another problem. She bit her bottom lip as she glared at Edward's brief manual, as if it would suddenly spell out the answer to her question. Was she supposed to change it when there was no stool? Then she looked at Nicolas, who was teetering on a wail.

At thirty-one years old, Riza Hawkeye was an accomplished Captain of the Amestrian military. Two atrocious wars notched under her belt, she retained her title as the best sharpshooter in the land and the most loyal adjutant to the General who would eventually succeed as the country's Fuhrer. Riza Hawkeye was smart and determined. Yet, she realized as she elevated Nicolas' stubby legs that her coarse hands had never delved into the realm of motherly duties.

"So I know I'm supposed to wipe you clean first. But then do I dry you up, or do I just…" A wet cloth in her hand, she mumbled at the baby, whose damp, pitiful gaze accompanied a downward curl of his mouth. The child was moaning faintly, but she could tell he was on the brink of misery. When she did not find the answer in the stark space of the General's home, she turned to memory. How did Gracia do it back then?

Riza recalled seeing her patting Elicia dry, and followed it precisely. Rolling the diaper on Nicolas next, Riza tilted her head and pondered. It looked right. It was snug and tidy against the baby's plump legs. "Was that why you were crying? You just wanted a diaper change?" Riza smiled, confidence latching on her words.

The infant mumbled his approval and coiled around the blanketed ground, gripping the quilt, bringing it to his mouth. He seemed fine.

Leaning against the bottom of the sofa, Riza inhaled deeply, blowing a gust through her mouth. The sliver of respite was kind. But when everything had seemed too perfect, Nicolas crept too close to the coffee table, rolling against the lumpy blanket and bumping his head against the leg with a loud thud.

This time he howled, a weir of shriek breaking and flooding into the room. His cries were thundering. Demanding.

"Oh crap." In a flash, she swiped for the stuffed animal horse perching atop the table. She waved the toy around, eager for his attention, during which her hand was rubbing soothing circles on his delicate head. "Here. Nicolas, look here!" Extending his short fingers, the child grasped it and hurled it aside, dropping it to the floor. Then he sulked and started crying again.

"Oh no no no… don't cry, please." At her wit's end, she swiftly picked him up and nestled him against her chest. Her pulse clapped on her neck, fast and unforgiving, as she stroke him gently up and down his sobbing back. There was no appeasing the child. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to rock and sing you to sleep?" Her voice was brittle with defeat. She was never much of a singer.

But Riza withdrew her apprehension, tucking the feeling of absurdity that threatened to swell, and released a sedative hum. She crooned a century-old song she'd heard from her mother's lips, a precarious verse that buoyed itself up, unbidden. She sang, and swept her body side to side.

As seconds passed, performing to the child didn't feel so silly anymore. Nicolas had become mute, or rather, taken aback by the increasing volume of her singing. Then she crossed the floor in sinuous steps, to one corner and back again, much like a broadway actress in the middle of a production. Nicolas had withheld his moans, surrendering to the irrepressible wallow of her ballad.

But the moment she stopped, the child began to cry again.

Frazzled, Riza retraced her steps, singing and meandering, over and over, until her chignon became undone and the barrette was dangling down her back. All effort was amiss, however, and Nicolas' agony tore across the room. Then her clip fell, and she cursed quietly in frustration. Before she realized, she was halfway through a prayer to keep calm. Huddling Nicolas against her hip, she didn't dare breathe while bending halfway down to pick up the offending item.

Her jaw was taut then, and the world had seemed merciless. But when her shoulder-length hair whipped at the child, accidentally, Nicolas grabbed a fistful of it and suspended all cries.

She turned to look at him, seeing the baby gawk at the clump of gold as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Then he proceeded to put them into his mouth, chewing it between his lips and gurgling with laughter.

"You like... my hair?" Riza asked, her tone curling in disbelief. "Does the color remind you of your mother's?" Nicolas laughed again, as though agreeing, extending his other hand to catch more of her hair. Her shirt was a rumpled mess, and her mane was tangled underneath the child's grip. But she was comforted by his adorable smiles and overjoyed by his happy squeals, and she wished to maintain the glee for as long as she could.

Riza spun to face the bedroom door and gasped. Surprised, she locked gaze with Roy, who was leaning against the door in plaid pajama bottom, his torso bare from the distending summer temperature. He had a wide grin, with disheveled, dark fringe that cascaded over a deep-set of watchful eyes.

"Exactly how long have you been standing there watching me?" Riza asked, raising a thin gaze and holding it against him.

"Long enough to watch you struggle with Nicolas," he replied, warm and low, a smile rolling on his lips. "I was going to ask you to come back to bed, but you looked busy."

Her brows furrowed, irritation building on her appearance. "You could've helped, you know. I don't know how Gracia or my mother went through all of this. I followed Edward's instruction, _every single one_, and at the end of the day, all the child wanted was my hair. Who would've thought that?"

"Well, a baby is fickle," Roy said sagely, taking small steps towards her. "But it didn't seem like you needed much help. Nicolas enjoyed your playing with your hair just as much as I do-" Twirling a long lock around his finger, he presented it to Nicolas, who took it with another bubbling laugh. "See?"

And Riza couldn't stifle a light chuckle as she rolled her eyes. "I would _never_ be ready for this."

"I don't think _anyone_ could ever be ready for a baby," Roy said, descending fond lips onto her forehead.

His droll tone shook her body with mild laughter, and she spoke against her better judgment, "But one day I'd like to experience it."

Her marriage had always been, first and foremost, to her duty, even when love had protested and groaned with passing time. But now that their ambition was drawing to a close, with atonement faithfully guiding their days, perhaps it was acceptable to unshelve the possibility and dust off the notion of motherhood once again.

With a voice soft with affection, Roy whispered, "I know you would make a wonderful mother." And as he said this, there was a certainty that suppressed her own musings, as if he had looked into the future and carried the knowledge back with him. "And I can't wait for that day to come."

Nuzzling Nicolas' drowsy head against the tender span of her chest, Riza turned to Roy and smiled her silent agreement. He beamed back, and she knew he was sketching another shared picture of tomorrow without a single word spoken aloud. Finally, for the first time, Riza allowed the ghost of her childhood dream to permeate, steady and sure, until it settled amicably into the air.

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A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know how you like it :)


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